


The Profession

by elizamackenzie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:17:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizamackenzie/pseuds/elizamackenzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis eyes flicked to them immediately. The angry red marks, scratched down the length of Harry's back. The boy turned, quickly, hiding them from sight and bunching his shirt over his stomach. They were silent like that for a while, Harry's eyes downcast. Before he finally explained, "Some of the men like it rough."<br/>--<br/>Louis is a pimp with dubious intentions, Harry is much too young, Niall wants love, Liam wants out, and Zayn is the undercover cop that sends it all to hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

_"I am someone else when I'm with you, someone more like myself." - Original Sin_

* * *

 

 

Harry opened his eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling. He groaned slightly and turned over putting his face in his pillow to block out the light streaming in from a nearby window. He heard some shuffling from the other side of the room and was quickly jolted awake by a wad of clothing being throw at his head.

“Jesus.” He grumbled. “It’s too early for this shit. I had a late appointment last night. Leave me alone!” He threw the wad of clothing back behind him, attempting to hit the original thrower.

“No sleeping in today, baby Hazza, we got a newbie coming in, and we gotta give him a warm welcome.” Niall’s voice resounded throughout the room and Harry swore he was going to kill him. Slowly, he turned toward the clock on his bedside table and read the time. 5:45 AM.

“Niall!” Harry shouted, gesturing to the clock in disbelief. “What? Do we have people trying to get one in before breakfast now?”

“Will you all shut up?!” A voice called from the other end of the room, eliciting a series of agreeing yet _quiet_ murmurs from a few of the others.

 It was undeniably Liam who had spoken and talking too loud around him in the mornings was like walking on thin ice. While the other boys wanted to supplement his statement, they didn’t want to anger him further. They all had to live within close proximity of him, the best thing to do was stay on his good side.

“Close proximity” was a bit relative; the room itself was rather large when compared to other rooms in the building. It also had the fewest number of people. It contained eight beds in total, but only housed seven boys. It wouldn’t be that way for long, as “the new boy” was scheduled to take over the empty bed later that morning. Many of the boys hadn’t been too excited about the prospect as the empty bed had become a quite a reliable coat hanger over the past few months. Other than the beds, the room had two sizeable windows in it, one at either side. Harry was unlucky enough to have picked a bed by the window on the East side of the building, and in return faced the wrath of the sun during the early hours. Next to the window on the West side of the room—past about four beds and two dressers—was Liam’s bed. It was rather fortunate it hadn’t been the other way around. Despite the fact that none of the boys—save Niall—were particularly morning people, Liam was still, by far, the nastiest shortly after waking up. Most people left him alone if it was any time before noon.

Niall was not one of those people.

“Li! It’s the first day of school!!” Niall joked, running over to Liam’s bed and attempting to shake him awake.

“Fuck off!” He flung his legs in Niall’s direction, successfully hitting him in the shin. Niall winced and backed off a bit. With a pointed look at Liam, he started to make his way back over to Harry.

“Am I the only one who’s excited about this?” He whined.

“No, you’re just the only one who’s awake. Now shut it!” Harry buried his head in his pillow and once more tried to drift back into sleep.

Niall sighed and flopped back down onto his bed, causing a small creaking sound to resonate through the room. Almost as soon as Niall’s head hit the pillow, the door flew open and slammed against the wall.

“Rise and shine, lovelies.”

“Jesus Christ.” Liam’s voice sounded. Harry sighed into his pillow and Niall quickly sat up, his excitement multiplying.

The man at the door was intimidating. Not in his stature, he wasn’t very tall nor did he look very strong, but instead he possessed a certain air that warned people not to get too close. He was known as Mr. Tomlinson and it was very easy to tell—he was in charge.

To be more specific.

In this world, Louis William Tomlinson was God.

“We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.” Mr. Tomlinson voice rang clearly through the room and almost immediately each of the other boys started to get up from bed. “As I’m sure Niall’s already told you we’ve got a new boy coming in today.” Mr. Tomlinson gave Niall a small wink and the boy smiled widely. “Not to mention we’ve got a high class business man flying in from Amsterdam this afternoon. Who I hear is rather generous with his pay checks.” Each of the boys perked up, the thought of extra money suddenly making them more awake, and looked directly at Mr. Tomlinson. “Now, he’s already made some requirements for his desired partner. And he specifically requested for dark hair.” Niall fell back onto his bed with a sigh, running his fingers through his light blonde hair with a pout. “And he likes them to be young.” A few more disappointed faces. “And his ‘kink’ if you will. He’s got a weakness for curly hair.” All eyes shifted away from Mr. Tomlinson to Harry, who, unlike the other boys, hadn’t sat up and instead maintained his sleeping position. Still, he could feel everyone’s eyes on him. “So, if your name isn’t Harry Styles, you’re going to be spending the day with the usual crowd. Now, get your lazy asses out of bed and get some breakfast, we got work to do.” Everyone started to move, but Mr. Tomlinson quickly grabbed Niall’s arm holding him back. “I want you to meet the new guy. Show him around a bit. Come over to my office around 11 he’ll be there then.” Niall nodded eagerly and scampered out of the room towards Liam who begrudgingly made his way down the hall.

Harry had yet to move, pretending that he was asleep, thinking that they would just let him stay in bed for a little longer. As the room cleared out, Mr. Tomlinson started to make his way towards Harry. Slowly, he sat down on the edge of the bed and Harry tensed.

“Harry,”Mr. Tomlinson cooed, “Wake up.” At this Harry started to shift and sit himself up, not making eye contact with the man on the edge of his bed. “Now, he said he wanted young, but I don’t know _how_ young. So you may have to use your better judgment and act younger than you are.” Mr. Tomlinson spoke softly and kept shifting in attempts to meet the curly haired boy’s eyes. Harry nodded slowly, and still refused to look up at him. Mr. Tomlinson placed a finger under his chin and tilted his head up so that they were looking directly into each other’s eyes. “I know you can handle it Harry. You’re the best we’ve got.” Harry gave him the best smile he could muster, not sure if he liked Mr. Tomlinson touching him like that.

But he didn’t pull away—he knew better.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep him happy.” Harry finally responded.

A smile crept onto Mr. Tomlinson face and he pulled his hand away from Harry before getting up from the bed, “Good boy.”

Mr. Tomlinson closed the door behind him leaving Harry alone in the room.

\--

“Zayn Malik, recently released from prison serving two sentences for the possession of narcotics.” She said, reading aloud the file that she held in her hand. “Tell me about your family.”

The man sitting in front of her was in his mid-20s. He had dark features, short spikey hair, and a certain fire in his eyes--The kind that only belonged to reckless youth with overly idealistic thoughts.

His eyebrows laced together causing lines to form on his forehead. It was a though his next words were difficult to say. “My dad left when I was two, leaving my mum and me on our own. She had trouble finding a job most of the time and we lived in poverty for most of my childhood. She got lonely a lot so we had men in and out of house constantly. My mum passed away while I was on the inside.” He rattled the information off as he stared down at his hands.

Without hesitation the woman shot off another question her heels clicking softly against the linoleum floor as she paced back and forth. “What are your parents’ names?”

“My mum’s name was Cheryl and I was never told my dad’s name. My mum didn’t talk about him much.” Zayn still hadn’t looked up from his hands.

She smiled at his responses. “Very good.” She handed the file to him and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “I think you’ve got it down.”

She gave him a sincere nod and he was stuck by her beauty for only a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t know. I was a bit shaky on the prison record.” He flipped through the pages looking for the information.

“Zayn, you’re fine! You know this backwards and forwards. Don’t start psyching yourself out.” Zayn took in a deep breath and nodded. “Now, they’re expecting you to arrive at eleven. We have officers ready to fill each of your quotas for the day, so don’t worry about that. All you need to do is find out as much information as you can. Find out what drugs they’re supplying, what they’re doing to keep those boys at their posts.”

“You got it.”

She squatted down in front of him and placed her hands on his knees. “You have five days, Zayn. Then we come in and bust them. We already have them on a pandering and pimping charge; we can go in there and arrest these guys right now if we wanted. They would get eight, maybe ten years in jail. But that just means they go right back out there and do it again when they get out. Give us something that will put these bastards behind bars for good.”

He gave her a fervent nod and looked back down at his file, suddenly feeling more nervous.

“Zayn, look at me.” He did as he was told and looked up at the blonde woman. She had big pleading eyes and cherry nose. She looked more like a doll than a person. Her full cheeks led straight to her taunting mouth that was tied up in a perfect red bow. All of this Zayn noticed, and all of this Zayn was doing his best to ignore.

She rubbed her lips together lightly before continuing, “If you get caught, these people won’t just kill you. I need to know that you can do this.”

Zayn took a moment and breathed out. “I can do this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

She smirked slightly, pleased by his lack of hesitation. “Okay, I’m putting all of my faith in you, Zayn.” She patted his knee and turned away from him, walking back over to her desk.

“Perrie.” He called out. She turned on the balls of her feet and he gave her a smile. “I won’t disappoint you.”

\--

Harry looked over at the pound notes scattered on the bed and began to count.

“Generous paychecks my ass.” He mumbled to himself.

He leaned over and started to sort the money. A thousand of it went to Mr. Tomlinson. That was the deal. Whatever the boy’s “fixed price” was went to Mr. Tomlinson, any extra they could keep. It might not seem fair, but most of the boys didn’t need the money. Room and board at the house was free of charge, as long as he got enough costumers to keep the bosses happy. So most boys used their money for extra entertainment on their days off or they used it for drugs which they could get directly from Mr. Tomlinson.

It was a good way to keep the boys from leaving. If you wanted your ration of drugs you turned in all the tips you made, no matter how little or how small that tip amount may be. Get guys addicted enough and desperate enough, they turn in a shit ton of money for a few grams of coke. That way they don’t have any extra savings lying around, and then they couldn’t leave even if they wanted to.

Harry didn’t waste his money on drugs, he’d watched heroin destroy his mum and dad growing up, and it was the last thing he wanted to do to himself. At the same time, he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t have a “savings account”, he wasn’t biding his time until he had enough money to get out. Where would he go? He didn’t have any family; he’d never graduated high school. At least here he got meals three times a day.

Harry looked down at what was left of the money. The man had given him an extra 200 pounds—two fifty pound notes and a hundred. Fifty would go to Niall. It was a sort of unspoken deal they had. Everything they made, they shared. The other fifty he would keep for himself maybe use part of it to catch a movie that weekend. The remaining hundred would go straight to Liam. This was less of a deal and more of a personal mission for Harry.

About two years ago Niall had met Liam in a pub. Liam had worked at a factory that built airplane parts since he was seventeen. Then after six years of work, they laid him off, without an explanation. Liam struggled to find a job after that. He had never been secure with his money and had been living pay check to pay check when he’d been working. Now, making payments was almost impossible. He ended up losing his house, and almost everything else he’d owned. He had been at that pub using his last pound to buy a drink—a man after Niall’s own heart.

Niall brought Liam to the house later that night and introduced him to Simon—the man who ran the house before Mr. Tomlinson took over.

 _It was so different back then . . ._ , Harry thought momentarily.

Since joining the house, Liam made it very clear that he wasn’t messing around. Any extra money he made was stashed away. He never went out, the only time he even began to dip into his savings was to buy new clothing and even then, he only bought whatever was the cheapest.

 He wasn’t like Harry, he didn’t want to stay. His ultimate goal was to buy his house back, and have enough left over to live comfortably while he found a stable job. He wasn’t just trying to survive; he was trying to start over.

His house ended up selling to another buyer about a year ago, and Liam lost a lot of his drive. Harry never really had a home, and he couldn’t imagine what it must be like to lose one. It was a little after that when Harry decided to start giving a part of his tips to Liam. Liam had been reluctant to accept the money at first, but once Harry assured him that he had nothing he needed it for, Liam gave in. Harry was going to help him buy his house, even if it wasn’t the one he’d previously owned.

Harry sat up in the bed and got up to grab a robe that was hanging over the bed post. He tied it around himself and slipped his two hundred dollars into its pocket, keeping the thousand in his hand. He quickly passed it off to the man in the hallway, giving a nod.

“Everything alright, Harry?” The man asked. Harry looked up at him and saw the genuine concern on his face. The man was always rather cautious around him; he always assumed it was because he was much younger than the other boys.

Harry gave him a thin lipped smile, “Yeah. Thanks, Paul.”

“Just doing my job.” The man responded—and he was. The rooms where the clients visited the boys were kept in a special section of the building. Paul’s job was to monitor this section. He made sure clients paid and that they didn’t unnecessarily rough up the “merchandise”.  This extra precaution, to protect the boys, was put in place by Mr. Tomlinson when he took over. Back in the day, if a costumer got belligerent Harry just had to deal with it. Having Paul around was a luxury he wasn’t quite used to, and truthfully the guy made him kind of nervous.

Harry quickened his pace, wanting nothing more than to stash his money and go take a shower, when Paul grabbed his arm, “Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve got something for you.” Paul reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a small envelope and handed it to Harry. “Mr. Tomlinson asked me to give this to you.” Harry quickly took it and yanked his arm away from the man’s grasp. He murmured a quiet “thank you” and continued towards his room.

His heart was beating rather fast as he made his way down the hall. Paul seemed like a good guy, sure. But Harry had been in this business long enough to know that strong armed men like Paul weren’t hired just to be “peace keepers”.

In a way that was the catch with Mr. Tomlinson. When compared to life under Simon’s ownership the boys were definitely kept in better conditions. Mr. Tomlinson made sure that his boys were healthy, had them each regularly tested for STDs. He had security, like Paul, put in place. The boys were happier and healthier—but they were also more obedient. Under Mr. Tomlinson management not many new rules had been put into place, but one, unspoken, rule had been burned into the boy’s minds.

\--

The building was huge. Zayn remembered driving by it at least a hundred times and he’d only lived in London for about a year. The largest male brothel in London since the late eighteen hundreds, hidden in plain sight. He couldn’t even imagine how many people they’d be able to stash away inside it.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before knocking on the door. It was answered by an amiable man in a well-tailored business suit.

“Morning.” The man said, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Ah, yes, I’m Zayn Malik. I have an appointment with Mr. Tomlinson.” He answered, not quite sure what was going on. This was a lot less seedy than he was expecting and this guy seemed more like an elementary school teacher than a pimp.

“Of course.” The man responded with a smile. “Let me just check my list.” He retreated inside for a moment, closing the door behind him. Zayn awkwardly stood outside, hoping that nothing would go wrong and that he was, indeed, at the right place. He tried to preoccupy himself with the shoulder strap of his bag. The door reopened and the man once again smiled at him. “Right this way.” He gestured inside and Zayn stepped over the threshold.

He squinted, trying to adjust to the dim lighting.

Suddenly, a burly man appeared next to him and began to yank Zayn’s bag off his shoulder. Zayn immediately let go of it and the man started to sift through his belongings. “Sorry about the invasion of privacy, Mr. Malik, but one can never be too cautious.” The man in the suit spoke again, this time his smile seemed less friendly and more menacing. Zayn merely nodded.

After a couple of minutes, the burly man threw Zayn’s bag back at him and Zayn caught it, with some difficulty, before slinging it back over his shoulder. “Now, if you’ll follow me, Mr. Malik. Mr. Tomlinson is waiting.”

Zayn followed the man down a long hall. The walls were intricately decorated and they reminded him of an old opera house. Suddenly, the man stopped and Zayn almost ran into his back. The man turned sharply to his right and knocked on the wall. Zayn stared at him, rather confused, and then a section of the wall swung open, revealing a large office. The man gestured inside and Zayn passed by the man and heard the door—or wall—close behind him. He looked over to the desk, expecting to see an intimidating man sitting behind it, but no one was there.

"It’s Zayn right?” a voice asked from behind him. He jumped a bit and whipped around to find a man standing in front of the door, his hand on the door knob. H _e must have been the one who let me in,_ Zayn thought.

“Yes. Zayn Malik.” Zayn confirmed, carefully studying the man. He wore a suit like the man who had walked him here, but his was a midnight blue, fitted at the waist. This suit wasn’t just well-tailored; it looked like it had been specifically _made for him_. He wore a skinny striped tie over a white button down. And a white handkerchief peaked out of his breast pocket ever so slightly.

"Louis Tomlinson.” The man stated, offering Zayn his hand. Zayn shook it heartily. “Why don’t you take a seat?” Mr. Tomlinson nodded towards seats that were in front of the desk and Zayn made his way over to them. Mr. Tomlinson followed close behind and walked around to his desk chair. Once the two of them were settled, Mr. Tomlinson picked up a folder on his desk and looked up at Zayn with a smile. “So, let’s see here.” He reached over for a pair of square rimmed glasses before opening the folder and reading its contents. “You’re twenty-five, dark skinned, dark hair. You have an interesting accent, where are you from?” Mr. Tomlinson asked looking back up at the man.

“Bradford.” Zayn responded. There was no point in lying about that one.

“Bradford,” Mr. Tomlinson repeated thoughtfully as he focused back on the folder. “Smoker, bit of a junkie.” Mr. Tomlinson smirked at that. “Still using?”

“No, sir.” Zayn replied and then mentally kicked himself for the title. It was a habit he’d gotten into at the academy. He hoped that Mr. Tomlinson would just take it as a result of his prison time. Mr. Tomlinson didn’t question it.

“Shame. I would’ve liked to have a new costumer.” As he spoke there was a soft knock. “Excuse me for a moment.” Mr. Tomlinson got up from the desk and walked over to a door on the right side of his office this time, rather than the wall. As he opened the door it revealed a blonde boy wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans. At first Zayn was a bit thrown off that he wasn’t a cold eyed, suit wearing business man. “Come on in Niall.” Niall walked in and looked over at Zayn. “Zayn, this is Niall he’s one of the boys and he will be teaching you the ropes during your first couple of days.”

Niall walked directly over to Zayn and shook his hand. “Welcome, mate.” The boy had a rather thick Irish accent and he sounded excited about Zayn’s arrival.

“Niall, I was just about to brief Zayn on some of the rules. Then you can walk him to his room.” Mr. Tomlinson relayed. Niall nodded obediently and sat in the chair next to Zayn. “Now, we have a few basic house rules. First off, we create a fixed price for you. The customer pays that price and we get the lump sum. We consider that payment for your room and board here at the house. However, any tips you make you are able to keep and use to buy what you want. The only thing we ask is that we are your primary drug supplier.” Mr. Tomlinson offered him a smile. “You are not allowed to have any visitors to the house and you are not allowed to have any outside jobs.” Then Mr. Tomlinson stood up from his chair. He walked over to the front of his desk and sat on the edge of it, directly in front of Zayn. “Also, just to make this clear, if you, for whatever reason, have a run in with the police—you don’t know me, this house doesn’t exist. If you try to bring us down with you, you will regret it for the rest of your life. I love these boys with all my heart. If you hurt the people I love, then I will not rest until you have lost everyone that you love. Do you understand?” Zayn quickly nodded. “Good. Now, Niall here will be showing you to your room. I’ll send out a notice about your arrival, see if we can get you some clients for tomorrow.”

Niall got up from his chair and Zayn followed suit, grabbing his bag as he tailed after the blonde boy.

\--

"How many do you have scheduled for today?” Harry asked Liam. The two of them were sitting on Harry’s bed. Liam was reading a book Niall had lent him, it was some shit about how to smartly invest your money and become a self-made millionaire. Harry was looking at his list of clients that had been scheduled.  

Most of the boys didn’t get a schedule. They were available for whatever walk-ins showed up during the day. However, the more clients you got, the more privileges you were allotted. For Harry, Liam, and Niall the best privilege was scheduling. They rarely ever got an “unexpected” client. The situation that morning was a bit of a rarity. People could call ahead and request the boys—make an appointment. Naturally, this made the boy more expensive, but typically it was a fee they were willing to pay.

“I don’t know. The usual. I didn’t really look all that closely. Probably about seven, eight people.” Liam stated, not taking his eyes off of the book.

“Well then, what the hell?” Harry commented throwing his schedule at his friend.

It landed on top of the page Liam was reading, causing the guy to curse. “Jesus, Harry! What do you want?”

“Look at what they gave me!” Liam adhered to Harry’s request and looked down at the boy’s schedule. “That’s three people, Liam. Count them! Three!”

Liam furrowed his brow and Harry could see him actually following his orders and counting the appointments. “Well,” He paused for a moment as though trying to think of a rationale. “You did have that business man this morning.”

"That’s still only half what you have scheduled for today!” Harry flopped back down on the bed and rubbed his hands over his face.

“So? They’re probably just giving you a break. Tomlinson’s all about that kind of shit. He wants you be ‘healthy’ and in ‘good condition’ or whatever.” Liam tossed the schedule to the side and continued reading.

“That’s not all. I also got _this_ after my appointment with that Dutch bastard.” Harry reached over and grabbed the envelope off of his side table and showed it to Liam.

“What is it?” Liam asked, unimpressed by the blank paper.

"It’s a request.” Harry said, putting the envelope on Liam’s book. “Open it.” Liam sighed at the further interruption of his reading and opened the envelope.            

 Inside, there was a piece of computer paper with a few words written on it.

 

                **Harry,**

**Come to my office at 7 PM tonight.**

**-Louis Tomlinson.**

 

“So what does it mean?” Liam asked looking up at Harry.

“Well, it means one of a few things. It’s possible that it’s nothing. Mr. Tomlinson’s, like you said, just giving me the day off and then he’s going to formally thank me for letting a rich, sweaty business man fuck me this morning.” Liam nodded. “Or. He's resting me up today because he wants to fuck me himself. I go to his office, he has his way with me, then I get a pat on the head and I’m sent back to my room—life continues as normal.” Liam nodded again. Harry opened his mouth to continue, but stopped himself.

“What’s the third option?” Liam prompted.

“Third option, I screwed up. I did or said something that I shouldn’t have and he’s going to teach me a lesson.”

It was quiet for a moment before Liam responded, “Harry, if you had done something to piss these guys off he wouldn’t be waiting until seven to punish you. He would have grabbed you right after your appointment. Seven o’clock is when rush hour starts, mate. All of the boys will be working. No way would he punish you when no one was around to watch. That’s his thing. Punishment doesn’t just serve as a teaching tool for the guy that screwed up. He wants the rest of us to see it. To know what will happen with _us_ if we ever do the same. That’s what he did with Charming.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Harry conceded.

“Charming” used to work at the house.

His real name was Charlie Macdonough, but to his clients he was “Prince Charming”. Charlie was a preening shit, which added a certain accuracy to the nickname that was hard to miss, so most of the boys ended up calling him that as well. It was Mr. Tomlinson third week and most of the boys were up in arms about how he was running things. His first order of business had been to kick out any of the boys carrying STDs, it wasn’t the best way to make the house like him. Charming had gotten pissed and decided he wanted to say something about it. It had been a common thing with Simon; if someone was upset they told him. He didn’t necessarily do anything about it, but he was open to listen. It apparently wasn’t common with Mr. Tomlinson.

Mr. Tomlinson had Charming beaten with in an inch of his life.

And he had the boys watch.

There was a small courtyard in the center of the building, and three of its sides were flanked by large windows. One of the windows was in the eating area. The other two were just in hallways. Mr. Tomlinson took Charming out into the courtyard and taught him a lesson.

The other boys in the house learned an important lesson as well.

For all intents and purposes, Mr. Tomlinson was infallible. You told him what he wanted to hear and you did what he told you to do. No questions asked.

“I still don’t like this though.” Harry admitted, but Liam didn’t respond, he was too busy trying to make his fortune.

\--

“And this is the eating area.” Niall said with an exhale. “That’s pretty much the house. Only thing, left to show you, is the room, and then you’re pretty much free for the rest of the day.”

“Cool.” Zayn replied looking around at the expansive room and noting the fairly large window that looked into a peaceful courtyard. This didn’t feel like a whorehouse. It felt like a resort. “So,” Zayn began, “anything that I need to know?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like any unspoken rules? Or hazing I should be wary of?” Niall chuckled a bit at Zayn’s questions.

“No, no hazing. And as for the ‘unspoken rules’, just keep your nose clean. Do as you’re told.” Niall stated as the two of them starting to walk towards the room. “Did Tomlinson tell you about names?” Niall asked suddenly.

“Names?” Zayn questioned.

“Yeah. Each of us is give a fake name that our clients refer to us as. It prevents any creepy stalking for the boys who end up moving out.”

“Is that common?” Zayn asked, looking up at Niall’s amused expression.

“Stalking?”

“No, uh, guys moving out.” Zayn lowered his voice, which immediately felt silly. He wasn’t supposed to make it look like he was questioning this guy; he needed it to seem natural.

Niall pushed his bottom lip out as he thought, “Well, kind of. Boys come and go all the time. Typically the more popular ones stay for the duration.”

“What about you? Do you ever want to leave?” Zayn asked, suddenly very confused. Apart from the creepy threat from Mr. Tomlinson and the mentions of drug sales, this place didn’t seem all that bad. What was he missing?

“Are you kidding?” Niall scoffed. “I get to live here for free, get paid for having sex with people, and I get Sunday’s off. Why would I ever want to leave?” Niall smiled widely at him as they rounded the corner into a small corridor filled with doors. Niall opened the one at the far end of the hall to reveal a long room filled with beds. The first one that Zayn spotted held two guys. One was about his and Niall’s age with short brown hair and a pouty face. The other was harder for him to place. He could be eighteen. He could be twelve. “Harry, Liam. This is Zayn, he’s the new guy.”

The two of them looked up at Zayn for a moment and then turned back to their own lives.

\--

“Mr. Tomlinson?” The man in the suit called after three sharp knocks on the door.

“Yes, what it is?” He responded curtly, placing his paperwork down on his desk and taking off his glasses to rub his eyes.

“We got the information you wanted, sir.” He replied. He walked swiftly into the room and placed a manila folder in front of Mr. Tomlinson.

He quickly grabbed it and began to read through it. “Oh, what a sneaky little bastard.” 

“What would you like us to do about it, sir?” As the man asked a small smirk appeared on Mr. Tomlinson’s face.

“Nothing yet, let him get comfortable first. Let him get attached to one of the boys.”

The man nodded and started to leave the room before asking, “Anyone in particular?”

“Niall’s friendly enough.”

“Yes, sir.” With that, the man left the room and Mr. Tomlinson began pulling at his lower lip.

Killing a cop was tricky. It would be best if it could be avoided. The best way for him to make sure Zayn didn’t talk was to threaten someone who no one would miss. Yet at the same time, someone Zayn cared about.

Luckily for Mr. Tomlinson, he had a house full of people that no one cared about. And he had a blonde haired boy that Zayn could easily grow attached to.

He took a deep breath and sighed, “Never learn, do they?” The clock in his office struck twelve, and as it chimed he picked up the folder once again.

“Zayn Malik, you bad boy.”

 

 


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I'm so shitty at updating!

_“Swoon, I’ll catch you.”–The English Patient_

* * *

“That husband o’ yours. “ Niall mused, stroking the woman’s hair as she nestled peacefully into his chest. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

She hummed contentedly, a light smile playing at her lips. “You spoil me.”

Niall turned his head gently to look down at her. “Only because you deserve it, Darling.” She glanced up at him. His crystal clear blue eyes held so much sincerity and caring—traits that she always longed to find in a man. It seemed she had found them at last, only, a little too late. The two of them didn’t break their eye contact and Niall watched her small smile slowly widen over her features.

Their gaze lasted for a moment longer until the buzzer went off in the corner of the room. Niall immediately took his eyes away from her. “Damn.” He cursed. “Four o’clock already.”

She nodded at his statement and began to gather her things. Niall followed suit, grabbing the robe at the end of the bed and fastening it around himself, before sitting back down.  “Will you be back again next week?” He asked, lazily tracing patterns on the red comforter.

She slipped her shirt over her head, fussing with her hair, as she answered, “Uh, more than likely. It depends on whether or not David takes me with him to Hong Kong.”

Niall let out a short whistle. “That’s a ways from home, eh?”

She nodded, wiggling her feet into black high-heeled shoes. She then looked around making sure nothing was forgotten. “Oh! Right. How much do I owe you?”

“950. Same as always.”

She began digging through her satin purse, grabbing out pound notes and placing them in a neat pile on the bed. She paused for a moment, looking up at the blonde haired boy, before adding another fifty. “Get yourself something nice, love.”

With that she flicked her hair over her shoulder and quickened her pace towards the door and out into the hall.

“Goodbye.” Niall replied, but she didn’t hear him.  

With a sigh, he carefully grabbed the money off the edge of the bed, and looked over at the clock.

Only thirty minutes until his next appointment

\--

Zayn looked around the empty room one last time before finally attempting to settle himself in. The bed that Niall had pointed out as “his new home” was almost completely covered by jackets and bags, that no doubt belonged to the room’s other inhabitants. Zayn sighed and pushed them off onto the floor, hoping that nothing in the pile was all that valuable. Then, he quickly plopped down onto the mattress, stuffing his own bag off into the corner, and laid down on his back.

The room was quiet, and it freaked him out. Judging by the size of the house, he knew there had to be a hundred some boys kept there. It didn’t make sense for it to be so—silent.

Even if it was “work hours”.

Almost as soon as Zayn had entered the room, Niall and his two friends had headed off to start their daily routine. Zayn wanted to ask them all about it, to know the specific details of what these guys had to do each day, but he refrained—trying to come off as somewhat nonchalant. So, instead he had gone to grab himself some lunch and take a quick look around the premises.

The first thing he noticed was that the size of the building didn’t seem to match the number of rooms he saw. Sure, most of the space was taken up by bedrooms, but it seemed there had to be at least a fourth of the house that he couldn’t get into. And whatever was in those hidden rooms was probably the key piece of information that he so desperately needed.

Zayn let out a quiet breath. In a way, he felt—relieved. The job seemed simple. Sure, Mr. Tomlinson was a bit assertive when they first met, but he wasn’t a menacing character. He was small in stature and only a few years his senior. If it came down to it, Zayn was positive that he could take him. Plus, Zayn was merely a face in a crowd of over a hundred fifty other boys. He could sneak around practically unnoticed.

Still, the look that Perrie had given him before he had left stuck out in his mind. She had seemed truly frightened. Of what, he wasn’t quite sure. He closed his eyes and let out another breath.

He could do this.

As he began to concentrate on the texture of the ceiling, the door to the room swung open and Zayn heard the sound of heavy feet crossing the floor. He craned his neck the tiniest bit to see his guest. He quickly spotted the boy’s curly hair and recognized him as Niall’s friend from earlier. In the light, he appeared even younger than he had before—there was no way he was older than 18. Zayn shivered at the thought.

Harry, as Zayn recalled his name being, had knitted his eyebrows together and appeared to be quite put out. The boy closed the door hastily behind him before making a bee-line for his bed and slipping under the covers. The bed creaked carelessly under his weight, but slowly quieted as the boy went still.

It was silent for a moment and Zayn propped himself up on his elbows. “Done for the day?” He asked, trying to sound friendly. The two of them had the room to themselves; he might as well do some investigating. Plus, a large part of him wanted to help the kid in any way that he could.

But the boy didn’t answer. At the sound of Zayn’s voice, he had merely curled further into himself and pulled his blankets closer around him.

Zayn watched him for just a moment before dropping his head back down on the pillow.

He let out a breath—maybe it wouldn’t be so simple.

\--

Niall bounded down the hallway, waving at people as he passed.

“Spencer! Hey man, good day? Alright keep it up.” He called out to a particular passerby, laughing at the end of his statement. His laugh echoed off the walls, causing others to turn and search for the source of the noise. Though, of course, once they realized who it was, they all merely smiled—or rolled their eyes—and returned back to their daily activities.

Niall handed Paul his earned wages for the day, receiving a friendly nod from the man—which he reciprocated. “How’s the baby?” He asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Oh he’s alright. Not quite sleeping through the night yet though.”

Niall let out another barking laugh. “Well, I don’t envy you that.”

Paul gave a small smile and a few agreeing nods, before Niall said a small farewell. “I’ll see ya ‘round big guy.”

“Yeah.”

Niall continued his stroll down the corridor, taking a small detour just before reaching his bedroom. Taking a slight left, he leaned against a door near the corner of the hallway knocking on it once. It was opened almost immediately and Niall took a step back.

“Ah, Horan. Wondered when you’d show up.” The man behind the door stated, seeming rather disappointed in Niall’s arrival.

“You know I couldn’t go a day without seeing your smiling face, Hugh.”

The man scoffed at that, moving to the back of the small room he was in, procuring a small bag. “Same as usual I suspect?”

“You bet, I like consistency.” Niall replied, taking the bag as it was handed to him.

The man shrugged halfheartedly. “Ah, well, you call it consistency. Others might call it a dependency.”

Niall furrowed his brow. “You know, when you say shit like that, it makes me think that you might want to get a different job.”

The man shrugged again. “I do what pays the bills, not what allows me to sleep at night.” He sighed heavily. “I don’t really have that luxury.”

“Guess I’m just lucky then.” Niall replied. He eyed the other man for a moment before a large smile spread across his face. “You have a good day, Hugh.”

The man merely waved in response, moving to close the door before he caught himself. “Oh, right. I have a message for you.”

Niall turned back to him. “What kind of message?”

The man’s eyes turned sad as he replied, “The kind that could get you killed if you’re not careful.”

Niall’s smile widened. “I would accept nothing less.”

\--

Harry tugged the blankets closer to himself, trying to sort through the mess in his mind. The letter from earlier still loomed over him like a threat.  Even if some of the potential reasons for the message were better than others, none of them were particularly good. It all seemed to be a trap, luring him in. Harry could almost guarantee that it wasn’t going to end well. He started listing the reasons in his head. _Option one, he thanks me. Option two, he fucks me. Option three..._ He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on his intake of breath—blocking himself from the world around him.

He imagined a world far from where he was.  A life full of sunshine and warmth. He imagined himself standing in an expanse of green grass, watching the sun set. There was a smell of home cooked food and the sound of laughter. He imagined the laugh belonged to someone he cared about—someone who loved him.

Far in the distance he heard a door open and close, followed by the sound of loud chatter.

Slowly, and reluctantly, he released himself from his day dream to find that a small group of people had entered the room.

“Yeah, right? And what the fuck was all that about anyway?” A lazy voice droned through the room—a voice Harry recognized. He buried himself further in the blankets, returning to his sunset and his laughter. But it didn’t last long.

“Ay, what do we have here?” The voice slurred, eliciting a few chuckles from the others in the group. “Taking a sick day are we, Styles?”

_Sunshine and warmth. A loving hand, a smile._

“Asleep over there, Darlin’?” The voice grated on, getting closer and closer to Harry’s pretend utopia.

_Bright stars and a cup of tea. A family._

“Now, now. Don’t be shy.” Harry could feel it—his fantasy disintegrating, slowly but surely being replaced by the reality unfolding around him. “Hey, Styles. Answer when I fucking talk to you.”

Harry’s mind began to scramble, desperately reaching— _A home, a life, love—_

“Hey!” – _safety, comfort, happiness—“_ I won’t ask again,”— _friends—“_ You little—“

“Would you lay off?” The voice cut through the noise in Harry’s mind.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, leave him alone. He hasn’t done anything to you.” Harry realized the voice belonged to the person who had been in the room before him—the new guy.

“And what makes you so sure of that, newbie?” The boy sneered, sounding like he was much too close to Harry.

“Well, he hasn’t said a single word.” The new boy reasoned. There was a mutual scoff that resonated from the group. “And you lot seem like proper dicks.” With this Harry felt the tension rise in the room. He felt his chest tighten, waiting for something bad to happen. The ‘newbie’ obviously did not know who he was talking to.

“I’d watch yourself, mate. You’re messing about with the wrong crowd.”

Now it was the new boy’s turn to scoff. “You don’t scare me.”

“That can change.”

“I doubt it.” It sounded distinctly like a challenge. He was egging them on, almost begging them to make the first move.

Harry heard small footsteps and it took him only a moment to realize it was the sound of _retreating_ steps. “Whatever.” The man responded. “You’ll get what’s coming to ya.”

The door opened and closed and Harry was alone with the new boy once again.

They both laid there in silence for a moment, before Harry buried his face into his pillow, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

\--

“Hey!” Liam protested for the fourth time as Niall once again, took a chip off his plate.

“Sharing is caring, mate.” The blonde boy replied through a mouthful of food.

Liam rolled his eyes and shook his head, scooting his plate farther away from his friend’s reach. “I’m gonna share my fist with your face in a minute.”

Not wasting a moment, and with surprising dexterity, Niall reached over Liam’s arm and took his fifth chip.

Liam attempted to swat his hand away, but failed and let out an exasperated, “Are you even listening to me?”

But Niall wasn’t, he was looking over at his other dinner companion, who was staring blankly down at his untouched food. “Harry, you alright?”

“What?” Harry asked, sounding vaguely distracted. He looked up from his plate to see Niall’s concerned expression. “Oh yeah, I’m good.” He didn’t sound very convincing, but it appeared to be enough for Niall who was already going in for another chip.

Liam sighed, surrendering his plate and leaning towards Harry. “Still thinking about the letter huh?”

Harry sighed and gave a small nod.

“Letter?” Niall perked up at the new information. “What letter?”

“Harry received a summons.” Liam explained, snatching some of the chips from Niall’s hands and smiling at his own personal victory.

Niall barely seemed to notice his friend’s reverse thievery. “Summons?”

“From the man himself.” Liam supplied once again.

Niall thought for a moment and then looked at Harry with a serious expression. “Tomlinson gave you a summons?”

“Wants me to meet him in his study,” Harry glanced warily at the clock on the wall, “in an hour.”

“Jesus.” Niall breathed. He leaned back in his chair, placing his hands at the back of his head. “So he wants to fuck you then?”

Harry laughed humorlessly and shrugged. “Or kill me.”

“Or both.” Liam offered. Harry turned his head slowly in his friend’s direction, giving him a look. The boy had regained his plate during Niall’s distraction and was sporting a rather amused expression. “Harry, I’m kidding.”

Harry turned away from him and laid his head down on the table, letting out a sarcastic, “Ha-ha,” in response.

It was then that Niall noticed the plate’s change in ownership and two of them went back to their bickering. Harry sighed. _Option one: he thanks me._ He shook his head, he knew that wouldn’t happen. It was down to the others. _Option two: he fucks me. Option three: He kills me._ Harry closed his eyes. _Option four: …both. Thank you, Liam._

\--

Harry took a moment to steady himself, before knocking lightly on the door of Mr. Tomlinson’s study. He half expected it to open magically; to be pulled by an invisible force. But no such thing happened. Instead, he waited patiently outside of the door, considering whether or not he should try knocking again.

The handle of the door finally turned and it swung open to reveal a rather intimidating man in a three-piece suit. Harry took a small step back.

“Can I help you?” The man sneered.

“I, uh,” Harry fumbled with his words, not quite sure how to explain. “Mr. Tomlinson asked to, erm, see me.”

The man narrowed his eyes at the boy, his grip on the handle tightening ever so slightly. “And your name?”

“Styles.” He replied, swallowing shallowly. “Harry. Harry Styles.”

“Well, _Styles_ ,” He added a certain hint of disgust to the name. “Mr. Tomlinson doesn’t have an meetings scheduled for today so I’m afraid you’ll have to—”

“Charlie, who in God’s name are you talking to?” Mr. Tomlinson’s voice rang out clearly from inside the room. It even managed to sound jovial in comparison to the suited man’s tone of voice.

“Some kid, says he wants to talk to you.” Charlie replied, never taking his beady eyes off Harry.

 _That’s not what I said._ Harry thought, hating the way the situation was panning out.

“And why does he want that?” He almost sounded amused as he asked, as though he was addressing the ridiculous actions of a child.

The man in the suit didn’t give him a response and Harry waited to be sent away.

“Well, see him in.”

With those words, the man in the suit opened the door wider to give Harry a better view of the study. It was a fairly large room and much brighter than Harry had imagined it would be. The man cleared his throat and Harry took the hint, walking past him into the room.

Mr. Tomlinson was seated behind a large wooden desk. In his hands he held a large stack of papers that he was slowly scanning his eyes across. He wore a light blue suit jacket over a checkered dress shirt. His tie sported an ornamental tie pin and his shoes were freshly polished and obviously foreign made. He would look like a magazine clipping—if it hadn’t been for the reading glasses hanging precariously off his nose and the fact that he had put his feet up on the desk in front of him.

Harry made his way to the center of the room, feeling the man in the suit’s eyes on him. Finally, when he was standing directly in front of the desk, Mr. Tomlinson put down his papers and turned to look at his visitor. Harry prepared to see a sign of recognition cross his employers face, but was met with a blank stare. He started to wonder if the letter had been a joke—someone’s attempt to get him in trouble.

“Charlie,” Mr. Tomlinson said calmly, not bothering to look over at the man.

“Sir?”

“Leave.”

Without another word, Harry heard the door open and close. And then he and Mr. Tomlinson were alone.

Harry watched as the man, slowly, took his feet down from the desk and removed his glasses. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He looked ridiculously casual and it made Harry nervous.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Mr. Tomlinson started, sounding more like he was talking to an old friend than to one of his whores—at least Harry thought so.

“I didn’t know I had a choice,” He replied bitterly.

Louis eyes snapped up to him and he immediately regretted his statement. He hadn’t meant to say it. And he definitely hadn’t meant to add the venom to it that he had.

“Do you want to leave?”

“No,” Harry replied quickly, looking down at the floor. Hoping his employer would let the comment slide.

Mr. Tomlinson stayed silent for a moment and then Harry heard him get up from his chair.

Out of his peripheral vision Harry saw Mr. Tomlinson’s expensive shoes moving across the carpet, closer to him. He held his breath.

The shoes stopped a foot away from where he was. “You can leave if you want to.”

“No,” Harry responded again, still refusing to look up.

It was quiet for another moment, neither of them moving.

Mr. Tomlinson took a deep breath and let out a quiet, “Alright.” He turned on the spot and began to walk away. Harry took this moment to glance up at the man. He was striding across the room to a door at the other end. Harry watched him reach into his suit pocket and retrieve a single, gold key. With a steady hand, the man unlocked the door in front of him.

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion as Mr. Tomlinson carefully opened the door revealing a long, dark hallway. Then, he turned back to Harry.

“Come on then.”

 _Oh_. Harry registered. _Option two._

Mr. Tomlinson held his arm out, gesturing for Harry to walk in front of him—which the boy obliged. As soon as he stepped out into the corridor, the lights automatically flicked on. Harry looked to see hundreds of little lamps lining the walls of the walkway. It made everything unnaturally bright. It made Harry feel overly exposed. And hyper aware of the man standing behind him.

With this thought, Harry started moving.

The hallway was long and windowless with bright white walls and carpeting. He felt like he was in one of those nightmares, that no matter how fast he went he could never reach the door ahead of him—and all he could hear was the constant sound of footsteps at his back. The corridor stretched on and on, seemingly reaching the back of the house, when he and Mr. Tomlinson finally reached the end. Harry felt the man start to move past him, placing a firm hand on his elbow as he stepped in front of the door. The contact made Harry’s heart beat quicken and he practically flattened himself against the wall, moving completely out of his employer’s way.

Once again, Mr. Tomlinson retrieved a singular gold key and unlocked the door. And once again he signaled for Harry to walk ahead of him. Then Mr. Tomlinson entered, and with a swift motion dead bolted the door behind them.

The room was dark, darker than the hallway had been. And this time no lights greeted their arrival. Harry stood perfectly still, waiting for Mr. Tomlinson to tell him what to do.

Then without warning, Harry heard shuffling to his left, followed by a thud and a whispered expletive. And then, a lamp switched on.

Mr. Tomlinson reached under the lampshade and turned the knob a second time brightening the room even more.

“Sorry,” The man murmured, moving from the end table over to the other side of the room. “The cleaners always put the shades down for some reason, makes this place like a prison.” He quickly pushed a button on the wall and at once blinds lifted out of the way to reveal large, sweeping windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Harry stared at them, stunned. With another swift movement Mr. Tomlinson flipped a switch and the main lights of the room flicked on.

The room was almost ornate. The carpeting was plush and bright white, interrupted only by a large black rug that adorned the center of the room. There was a small sitting area with a designer couch and glass coffee table. Sculptures sat in corners, and stacks of CDs rested under side tables, and bookshelves, filled to the brim, lined the walls that weren’t already covered by windows. Harry slowly turned, taking it all in. As he did, his eyes rested upon a black, iron spiraling staircase that seemed to continue on indefinitely.

“Would you like me to show you around?” Harry abruptly turned at the voice. Mr. Tomlinson was still standing over by the light switch gazing upon his guest with soft amusement.

Harry stared at him for a moment before nodding his head.

Mr. Tomlinson smiled at this—which made Harry ridiculously uncomfortable.

“Alright,” His employer responded, moving away from the wall and towards him. “Well, right now, you’re looking at my sitting room.” Harry nodded again. Mr. Tomlinson took a breath and pointed off to his left. “Down that hallway is the entrance to the courtyard.” Harry followed the man’s gesture to see a dark long corridor, not that dissimilar to the one they had walked down to get there. Harry shivered slightly, imagining Mr. Tomlinson having Charming dragged across his perfectly white carpet to reach his little, private ‘courtyard’.

“Over here is my garden.”

Harry broke away from his thought and began walking slowly after Mr. Tomlinson, who had started to move to the other end of the room. Following the man’s gaze Harry looked through one of large windows to a beautiful expanse of nature. Even in the dark, it was lovely.

“That’s really all there is on this floor,” Mr. Tomlinson commented looking over at Harry. Harry nodded and Mr. Tomlinson lowered his voice. “You wanna go upstairs?”

Harry absorbed the full implications of the question. He blinked a few times steadying himself. _Treat him like a client._

“Yes,” Harry responded, turning to look his employer in the eye. Mr. Tomlinson smiled at him for a moment and then began to lead the way.

The two of them climbed up the staircase that Harry had seen earlier. Being closer to it, it was easier for him to see the intricate details in the handrails. He almost rolled his eyes at the blatant extravagance of it all. It verged on the ridiculous.

As they reached the second floor, they walked through a tiny gate and onto the main landing. It was much larger than the sitting room.

As before, Mr. Tomlinson turned on the main light and started to show Harry around. To the left of the stairs was a small desk, flanked by another pair of bookshelves. A second set of couches and chairs were next to that, this time equipped with a television. Mr. Tomlinson then turned to direct Harry’s attention to his balcony that overlooked his previously mentioned garden.

Then, the two of them walked to the opposite side of the room where Mr. Tomlinson pointed out the bathroom.  Harry narrowed his eyes a bit as he realized that the bathroom didn’t have a door. Just a large archway that connected the two rooms. Harry could clearly see a bathtub smack-dab in the middle of the tiled flooring and a couch placed against the wall. Granted, there was a separate closet in the back that presumably held a toilet, but it all seemed too public for his liking.

“And that,” the man stated, interrupting his thoughts, “Is where I sleep.” Harry slowly turned to see a large, feathery bed that Mr. Tomlinson was indicating towards.

“Are you tired, Harry?” The question was practically whispered, and Harry felt a shiver run down his spine.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry let out a quiet, “Yeah.”

With that, Mr. Tomlinson moved toward the bed, sitting down on it and slowly loosening his tie.

Harry took the hint.

He walked, purposefully, toward the man, standing directly in front of him, his hips colliding with his knees. Then, he lifted himself up onto the bed, kneeling on either side of his employers legs.

Without a moment of hesitation, Harry moved his hands up into the man’s hair, one them playing with the strands at the back of his neck. He looked down at him with hooded eyes. “What do you want, Mr. Tomlinson?” His voice came out as a low, almost desperate sounding plea, one that he’d mastered over the years. Harry was good at this.

The corners of Mr. Tomlinson’s mouth turned up into a small smile. He leaned forward ever so slightly, placing his hands on Harry’s waist. Then, moved his lips to Harry’s ear. “Two things,” He breathed, sending an unwanted shiver down Harry’s spine. One of his hands began to trail down Harry’s side, finding a spot near the curve of his hip. “First off, I’d like you to call me Louis.”

“Louis.” Harry repeated the name, tightening his grip in his employer’s hair.

“Second,” the man began again, now moving his hand away from Harry’s hip and slowly down his leg. He stopped at the outside of Harry’s knee, griping it firmly. He pressed his lips closer to Harry’s ear. “I want you to get off of me.”

He immediately released the hold on the boy’s leg giving it a small pat, before completely pulling away from him.

Harry stared down at the man, confused. “You want..?”

“Off,” Mr. Tomlinson repeated.

Without another moment of hesitation, Harry crawled off of him, scooting over to the other side of the bed. After he had done so, Mr. Tomlinson leaned down and began removing his shoes. Harry just continued to stare.

Harry bit down on his bottom lip, watching as the man got up and removed his jacket. He couldn’t quite tell what was going on. Had he done something wrong? “Mr. Tomlinson, I—”

“Louis.” His employer corrected, as he laid the jacket across the loveseat at the foot of the bed.

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry repeated again. “I don’t really understand what you want me to do.”

Mr. Tomlinson stopped his movements, and turned back to the boy. Harry had pulled his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around himself. It made him look small; a far cry from the confidence he had shown a few moments prior.

Louis softened his gaze. “Are you tired?”

Harry furrowed his brow; he didn’t understand what this man wanted from him. “Um, yes?”

Louis let out a small sigh at his response, running a lazy hand through his hair. “Then I want you to sleep.”

Harry blinked a few times, trying to decipher the man’s words. “You want me to leave?”

“No.” The response came out quickly—Harry noticed—and Mr. Tomlinson moved closer to the bed. “Do you _want_ to leave?”

Harry thought again, thought about the consequences of his response. “No.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

“Okay.” Mr. Tomlinson nodded and began to, once again, move across the room. He reached a small dresser, digging through it for only a moment before retrieving a pair of gray sweatpants. With a swift movement he tossed them onto the bed. Harry stared at them, his confusion deepening. “For you.” Mr. Tomlinson clarified as he walked away from the bureau and over to a small closet. He opened it and walked inside, giving Harry a weak smile before closing the door behind him.

Harry felt like he had been dropped in some sort of strange parallel world.  He blinked a few times and then looked over at the clothes Mr. Tomlinson had given him. Quickly, he started to put them on, not quite sure what else to do. He folded his previously worn jeans and laid them next to his employer’s suit jacket, when he heard the closet door open again.

Harry scampered back onto the bed and waited for Mr. Tomlinson to give him some kind of instruction or at least a clue as to what he wanted from him. Instead, the man pushed a button on the far wall and all the lights simultaneously turned off. Harry listened as Mr. Tomlinson climbed up onto the bed, and felt the comforter move as he crawled underneath the blankets. The boy sat, stunned for just a moment before he decided to follow suit, lying his head down on the pillow and angling himself slightly towards the other man. It was complete silence as Harry waited for the man to speak. Within a handful of minutes Harry finally heard him take in a small breath. “Goodnight, Harry.”

\--

The two boys sat off in the corner of the room, talking in hushed tones.

“So what exactly does he want with you?”

“I’m not quite sure. Hugh didn’t really explain it all that much. All I know is that I’m supposed to ‘get close to him’.”

“But why?”

“Aren’t you listening? I don’t know.” He let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his blonde hair. “I shouldn’t be telling you this anyway. Hugh said this was the kind of shit that gets people killed.” He gave a small shrug. “But, what does he know?

The other boy scoffed. “I reckon a lot more than you, Niall.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> There's a few things you should probably be aware of...(1) the "Major Character Death" warning is more of a 'possible' warning and (2) Some of the pairings listed may not be endgame. So just keep those things in mind. 
> 
> Thanks again. Please comment!


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